The Great Needle Heist (of JJ’s Sanity):
JJ is less then thrilled (to say the least) about getting his flu shot.
The drive to the clinic was the quietest JJ had ever been in his entire life. Usually, the truck was a symphony of his drumming fingers on the steering wheel, his off-key singing to the radio, and his constant stream-of-consciousness commentary on the quality of the surf.
Today, he was gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were the color of bleached bone.
"JJ," you said softly, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. "You’re vibrating. Like, literally shaking the upholstery."
"I’m not vibrating, YN. I’m oscillating," JJ corrected, his voice an octave higher than usual. "It’s a natural physical response to being led to my own execution. It’s a survival instinct. My ancestors are screaming at me to turn the truck around and head for the marsh."
"It’s a flu shot, JJ. It takes three seconds. It’s for your own good. Remember when you got the flu last year? You thought you were seeing the ghost of Blackbeard in the living room."
"Blackbeard was a very polite guest, for the record," JJ muttered, pulling into the clinic parking lot with the reluctance of a man approaching the gallows. "And at least he didn't try to puncture my skin with a silver harpoon. This is a violation of my Pogue rights. My skin is a temple, sweetheart. A slightly scarred, sun-damaged temple, but a temple nonetheless."
You managed to get him out of the truck, but it took ten minutes of coaxing and a promise of pizza afterward. As you walked through the sliding glass doors of the clinic, JJ flinched at the smell of the antiseptic.
"Ugh. That smell," he hissed, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "That’s the smell of betrayal. That’s the smell of 'we’re going to hurt you but we’re wearing white coats so it’s okay.' I don't trust it. I don't trust the lighting. It’s too bright. It’s designed to disorient the prey."
"You are not the prey," you laughed, guiding him toward the check-in desk. "You’re a grown man who survived a shipwreck."
"Exactly! I survived a shipwreck! I’ve been bitten by things in the water that don't even have names yet! Why am I paying a professional to do it on land?"
When the nurse called his name—"Maybank, Jesse?"—JJ looked like he wanted to bolt. He stood up slowly, his eyes darting toward the emergency exit. You grabbed his hand, weaving your fingers through his to anchor him.
"I'm right here, Jesse," you teased, using his full name.
"Don't Jesse me," he groaned. "Only the law and people with needles call me Jesse."
The exam room was small, and JJ seemed to take up the entire space. He sat on the crinkly paper of the exam table, which let out a loud shriek under his weight. He jumped nearly six inches.
"The paper is screaming! Even the furniture is terrified!" JJ exclaimed, pointing at the table. "YN, look at my heart rate. I can feel it in my toes. I’m pretty sure I’m having a medical event. We should probably cancel the shot and focus on my heart."
"Your heart is fine, you big baby," you said, standing between his knees and placing your hands on his shoulders. "Look at me. Look at my eyes. Forget the tray, forget the nurse."
The nurse walked in, carrying the small, plastic tray. She was a kindly older woman who had clearly seen her fair share of "tough guys" melt down.
"Alright, Jesse. Just a little pinch," she said, reaching for a cotton swab.
JJ’s head snapped toward her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Florence Nightingale. Let’s talk about the logistics here. What’s the gauge on that thing? Is that a harpoon? Is it a standard-issue needle or did you get that from a medieval museum?"
"It’s a standard pediatric needle, honey," the nurse smiled. "You won't even feel it."
"Pediatric? You’re using a kid’s needle on me? That’s insulting. I mean, thank you, but also, I have thick skin. I’m a laborer. I work with my hands. What if the needle snaps off like a toothpick? Then we’ve got a real situation. We’ve got a 'JJ-in-the-ER' situation."
"JJ," you warned, your voice firm. "Deep breath. Now."
JJ squeezed your hand so hard you thought your bones might actually fuse together. He shut his eyes tight, his entire face scrunching up like he was tasting a lemon.
"Okay," he panted. "Okay. I’m doing it. I’m a Pogue. I’m a warrior. I’m a... IS THAT THE SYRINGE? I SAW A GLINT! I SAW A REFLECTION OF DEATH!"
"JJ, keep your arm limp!" you commanded.
"I can't! My muscles are in a state of high alert! They’re protecting the bone!"
The nurse moved in with the alcohol wipe. JJ let out a hiss of air through his teeth. "Cold! Why is it always so cold? Is the cold part of the psychological warfare?"
"One... two... and done," the nurse said, quickly pressing a Band-Aid onto his arm.
JJ stayed frozen. His eyes were still squeezed shut, his jaw locked. "Did she do it? Did she strike? Am I bleeding out? Tell me the truth, [YN], don't sugarcoat it. How much time do I have left?"
"It’s over, JJ," you laughed, rubbing his arm. "Look. You’ve got a Band-Aid with a little crab on it."
JJ opened one eye. He looked down at his arm. He blinked.
"That was it?" he asked, his voice returning to its normal, cocky pitch. "That’s all you got, Doc? I’ve had mosquito bites in the marsh that were more traumatic than that. I didn't even feel it. I was basically meditating."
"You were screaming about medieval museums two seconds ago," you reminded him, grabbing your purse.
JJ hopped off the table, the crinkly paper giving one last protest. He adjusted his cap and flexed his arm, admiring the crab Band-Aid in the mirror.
"I was merely providing a distraction to test the nurse’s focus," JJ said, his swagger returning in full force. "She passed, by the way. Excellent technique. But let’s be real, it was my superior pain tolerance that made that look easy."
As you walked back out to the truck, JJ was already planning his "survival" story for the rest of the Pogues.
"I'm gonna tell John B the needle was six inches long," JJ decided, hopping into the driver's seat. "And that I didn't even flinch. I’m gonna tell him I looked the nurse in the eye and said, 'Is that all you got?'"
"I have a voice recording of you asking if the paper was screaming," you said, holding up your phone with a devious grin.
JJ stopped, his hand on the key. He looked at the phone, then at you.
"How much pizza is it gonna cost me to delete that evidence?"
"Two large pies. Extra pepperoni. And you have to admit that I was the brave one today."
JJ sighed, a dramatic, long-suffering sound, but he reached over and pulled you into a lopsided hug, kissing your temple.
"Fine. You were the brave one. But the crab Band-Aid? That’s mine. I earned that."
